Sympathy for the Devil
by morggp18
Summary: Puddin kidnaps Harley's former colleague and friend in an attempt to get his queen back. I'm bad with descriptions but good with updates.
1. Foreword

Freezing. Pins and needles, cold seeping into every part of my body, fucking freezing. I can't move, can't breathe; it's so cold I forget how to do both. My dress gets tangled up in my limbs and makes it harder to swim, harder to stay alive. Awesome. I finally break through the surface of the water, gasping for breath, and open my eyes to try and register my surroundings. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the mascara and water from my eyes and look around for J. He pops up, green hair making him easy to spot, and turns around to float on his back. What the hell? We just jumped off of a fucking party-yacht, courtesy of Bruce Wayne, so people are probably looking for us. J is one of the most wanted criminals…ever? So why the hell is he just floating there? Not that we really have anywhere to go, seeing as we are in the middle of the freezing ocean, but we could be very easily spotted if we stay here like sitting ducks.

Not to be completely cliché, but how the hell did I get here? I'm not supposed to be fighting Bat-

vigilantes and helping out Gotham's most wanted in the dead of night. Out of the corner of my

eye, I see J start to swim towards me, a look of glee on his face. Jesus Christ I'm not cut out for

this shit. I'm just good at hot wiring cars and hacking things and staying calm in asylums. Not

this, I'm not good at this. I can't do this. What the fuck even is this? I'm not sure what my life is

anymore. I feel like I'm living someone else's life, not my own. I can only think about the way

things used to be. Before him. Before us. Before this.


	2. Start Again

"Code Red in the West Wing, room 331" the voice announces over the speakers as medical personnel and guards race by the open door of the staff lounge. Harley glances up from her notes and turns to me, rolling her eyes. "That'll be J again," she says shaking her head, "I should probably go see what's up." She stands, sighing, and quickly puts her blonde hair into a loose ponytail. I study her face; she looks tired. She always looks tired nowadays. Harley looks like someone else. She had taken the Joker on as a patient a few months ago, and ever since then she had been different. Distracted. Out of her mind exhausted. She's always talking about him, going on and on about how he had a rough childhood and shouldn't be punished for things that really aren't his fault. Whatever. We used to talk all the time, about stupid things. Boys, booze, whatever. It didn't matter because it was us talking and we were together; inseparable. Now she wants to spend more time with the Clown Prince of Crime than me. Sometimes it felt like she wasn't the same person that I met in college. Of course, working in an asylum with some of the cities most notorious and dangerous criminals takes a toll on you, but this was something else. "Alright, be careful H. I know he's taken a certain, erm…fascination with you, but apparently he's in a bad mood today" I said, referencing the announcement. She offers me a small smile as she picks up her notebook and places her hand on my shoulder as she walks by me. "I always am Summer," she said before disappearing out the door and into the hall.

I turn back to my computer, analyzing the files of an incoming patient. Cat Woman. Again. Great. Against my better judgment, I open a new tab and begin to hack (illegally observe) Joker and Harley through the security camera footage. The way she talks to him is different than anything I've ever seen. She has a bad habit of bringing him gifts – this time a plush kitten – and showing immense sympathy for his psychotic ways. Sometimes when Harley's telling me about his sad past and messed up childhood, I forget who she's talking about and feel some empathy for him. Then I remember and tell her she's crazy and that I feel nothing. I always say that I feel nothing. Do I always feel nothing? This happens quite a bit. It's very concerning. It's also what I tell my therapist.

I put my headphones in and listen in to Harley's conversation with J. He's asking for a machine gun again. Honestly, I'm not sure how much longer I can work here. Especially because of these two yahoo's. Oh my God, yahoo's? I sound like my dad. Anyway, I need to go home. Tomorrow's my day off and I can't deal with Harley being an idiot anymore, as much as I love her. That being said, I sit and watch the rest of the session before jetting home. Ah, home. Complete with a walk-in closet and the world's smallest bathroom/shower, it's a pretty great home considering how much I'm paid every year. I walk in and collapse face first on the couch. Dear God. "This pillow smells like my dead cat" I say aloud, a curious look on my face. Figures. I turn on the television, take off my bra (my favorite part of the day) and snuggle into my couch ready to sleep all night and all day tomorrow. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I went to med school and studied phycology for years alongside Harley, but it's always freezing in the asylum. And there are no windows and I'm somehow always find myself listening to Harley and "Mr. J" talk about their twisted….friendship. I can't think about this anymore, it's all I ever think about. My eyes slowly shut and I lull myself to sleep thinking about my messed up life and best friend.

I wake up to countless texts and missed calls from the asylum. Is today not my day off? Shit. Shit fuck shit balls. Oh Jesus. I quickly scan over the texts. Wait, what? They're saying there's been an attack at the asylum. Oh shit. I call Derek, a fellow doctor, and wait anxiously for him to pick up. He does on the fourth ring. "Derek? Oh thank God. What happened? I'm not supposed to be in today. Oh my God. Is Harley okay? Oh my God. I should be there. I should come. Why aren't I there? I'm coming right now don't tell me not to becau-" "He took Harley, Summer. She's gone" he interrupts. I'm not sure what to say to him. I take a deep breath and say, "Who are you talking about Derek? Who took Harley?" praying that I wasn't right. Praying that the person I think took her, didn't take her. I hear Derek sigh over the phone before responding, "You know who Summer. The Joker took Harley."


	3. The Race

Apparently it started soon after I left, later that night. Harley actually got him that damn machine gun. He hurt her too. Shocked her. Tortured her. Changed her. He and his guys shot up the place and left with her to go to some hideout. The police have nothing, as always, they're completely useless in this damn city. You can't really blame them, though; the city's crawling with so many criminals it feels like they're around every corner. That's because they are, especially for me apparently. Before Derek hung up, he said that they were allowing medical personnel and staff into the asylum, and were directing family members to the hospital. I didn't go because I don't know what to do. Harley won't be there, so there's no reason for me to show up.

Months go by, and she's all over the news. Harley is running around with _him_ robbing places and causing accidents, she's gone insane. The asylum quickly got back on its feet, as things of this nature have happened before. I feel like every time I turn on the news, it's her and him, Harley and the Joker, running amuck in Gotham or Midway City, committing terrible crimes. And then one day, all of a sudden, it's only him. She isn't by his side anymore She got caught, by Batman, and is now locked up in some high security, "once you're in you're in", top notch prison in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of other crazies. This is not supposed to be my life; this is not supposed to be her life. We're smart and doctors and friends who need caffeine because the hours are so whack at our jobs that we'd crash without some coffee every two hours. Speaking of work, I have yet to return, and they understand for the most part. Harley and I were inseparable.

All I've done in the past month is get groceries and watch the news. I'm really not sure what else to do. I did hotwire the neighbor's car once, a skill I picked up in my teen angst period, but it wasn't that fun because I didn't have anywhere to take it. Besides the occasional hack of a security camera at Arkham, I've been laying low. Currently, I'm sitting on my old living room couch, planted in front of my television, mindlessly flipping through channels as alternate between stuffing my face with chicken teriyaki and cheese wontons. There's a knock on my door at about 3:30 am, very soft and polite. I push the blanket off me, eyes still closed, and sit up. I'm still in my jeans and t-shirt; I hadn't bothered to put on my pajamas. I slowly stand and shuffle to the door, opening it without looking through the peephole. Big mistake.

Four or five tall, angry looking guys push me back into the living room, forcing me back onto the couch. I'm fully awake now. They hold me down, one guy per limb, until I feel like the circulation is being cut off from my legs and arms. Once I stopped struggling, because I physically couldn't anymore, they all looked to the open door. It is dark, so I can only see the outline of the man that walked into my apartment, but I still know who it is. He slowly walks towards me, looking like something out of a movie. Unreal, unimaginable. But he is real, and I've imagined him so many damn times after what he did. He covers my mouth with his hand, a smile tattooed onto the back of it. I flinch. "Harley had a lot to say about you. I can see why, beautiful," he said, taking his hand away from my mouth and running it down the side of my face. He has surprisingly smooth hands for a psychotic criminal. He's wearing a dark red button up and a silver blazer with black pants and a tie. I feel inappropriately underdressed. The Joker looks at his guys, silently calling them off, and they all release me immediately. I quickly sit up, rubbing my sore wrists, grateful that I'm free from their grasp.

"I need your help retrieving Harley from that…" he stopped mid sentence, cracked his neck and flashed his smile before

finishing, "prison she got herself into. The word on the street is you're quite handy at disabling a tough security system. I need you,

Summer," he said. The Joker makes my name sound _super_ dirty. God. I want to be mad and scream and kick and yell for what he

did to Harley, but I know that's not smart and he'd probably kill me in a millisecond. I take a deep breath before saying, "well let's

get started then."


	4. Off the Map

For a guy that loves attention, J selected a surprisingly low profile van to kidnap me in. It is a musty, white van with no seats except the driver and passenger. This means that I, along with my new pals (Joker's thugs), am stuck rolling around in the back while J gleefully drives around the city and swerves around other cars. Fun! After they dragged me from my home, there was a shocking lack of force or duck tape used on me; instead they opted for a simple rope binding my wrists. Unfortunately for me, this makes it 10x harder to stay upright in the back of the van, so I'm at the mercy of the Joker and his horrible driving skills. There are no windows in the back of the van, so I try to get a glimpse of where we are through the front windshield when I'm not being catapulted into the other side of the van. My attempts fail, seeing as it is still dark out and the only light is coming from passing buildings and the occasional street lamp. I think one of the henchmen catches onto what I'm trying to do because he gives me a look that's meaner than usual.

After a solid half hour, we arrive somewhere on the outskirts of the city at an abandoned warehouse. What a cliché. One of the guys roughly grabs me by my shoulders and picks me up, lifting me out of the van, and places me on the ground. The rest filed out behind me and waited for J to get out of the driver's seat. He comes around the side of the van and motions with his head for us to follow him inside. Henchmen grab each of my arms and I'm led inside. Like the van, there are no windows in the warehouse and it is almost completely dark, except for some light coming from underneath a closed door off to the right. The floor is bare, no floorboards or anything, and is cracked and sandy. There's a spiral staircase in the back corner leading up to a hidden second story. I'm pushed further into the room as J walks past us, twirling around until he reaches the center.

He turns back to our group and says, smiling "isn't it neat? I'd love to give ya the grand tour. Maybe show you Harley's old room?" I visibly flinch when he says that last part, and he acknowledges it with a knowing smile. Joker walks over to me and swiftly unties my hands from behind my back, and then grabs my arm and leads me upstairs. The stairs lead to a ramp that overlooks the entire warehouse, and has three or four connecting rooms off to the right side. I think they're spare bedrooms or break rooms, but I can't be sure. We finally reach the end of ramp, and turn into the last door. It's a huge room with a bed in the corner and a desk in the center with all sorts of wires coming out of a computer. J, still holding my arm, walks to over to the desk and plops me down in the chair in front of it. I shift uncomfortable, playing with an invisible string on my pants. J slowly walks around to the front of the desk and opens the laptop, revealing codes and security warnings. "I think we both want the same thing here Ms. Wilson; to get our Harley back. Am I correct? Because I need your help to do that, so what do you say?" J purrs. I try to figure out what the fuck he's talking about, but I honestly have no idea. I respond, "Umm, all I know is she's in a high security prison that no one can break in or out of. And I'm not trained to be anything besides a physiatrist so I wouldn't be any help breaking in so…" "Come _on_ baby, you gotta use your brain," J says, suddenly crossing around the desk and putting his hands on my temples. "I need you to hack the system, like you've done so many times before." Oh cool, so he's well aware that I used to watch him flirt and manipulate my best friend. Well that's good, I'm totally cool and on board with this situation.

"I guess I can try if it means I get Harley back," I say. He gestures to the laptop and says, "We'll see. Get to work." He walks over to the small bed in the corner and picks up a magazine, casually flipping through. He looks annoyingly smug and toes off his shoes, crossing one leg over the other. Well, let's do this thing. I pull myself closer to the desk in the chair and gently place my fingers on the laptop keys. It looks like the security codes and programming of the Belle Reve sanitarium are already pulled up on the screen, so I begin to comb through them and search for any familiarities. I see a consistent code running throughout the program and start to follow its trail. Although I'm not able to access the security cameras, it would be too big a risk as I'm not sure I could go undetected for long, but I am able to access the files of all prisoners being held in the penitentiary. I quickly search for Harley's file and see a strange section. Apparently she's gone. Again, another dead-end. I realize that she, along with a handful of other prisoners, have been removed from Belle Reve and are being used for a "special project."

"It seems that Harley and about six or seven other prisoners have been removed from Belle Reve and are being used for a project of sorts," I pipe up, telling J the news. He rolls his neck and slaps the magazine down on the bed beside him. Walking over to me – wait when did his shirt come off? Shirtless and barefoot, J walks over to the laptop and bends down to examine the screen. "Well, well little doctor, it appears you've pulled through," he says straightening up. "Alright, change of plans. We're going to be doing something a little more fun in the mean time." He strolls around to the front of the desk and places his hands on either side of the laptop, the light reflecting eerily on his face, making his face even more pale than usual. "And what's that?" I ask him, genuinely curious and feeling strangely less awkward. His smile grows. "We're going to kill The Bat."


	5. Barbie

After J drops that fucking bombshell, he explains the plan while lazily playing with a knife. He says that we shouldn't be waiting around for days for information on Harley's whereabouts when we could be out messing with Batman. I'm still not sure why he thinks I'm qualified in the slightest for any of this. He casually reveals that Bruce Wayne, well known for the cars he drives and the women he slinks around with, is Batman and he just so happens to be holding a fundraiser auction thing on his massive yacht in two days. In Maine. I think he's expecting me to drive us up there. It'll take at least two days and probably a stay at a motel to get there in time for the party considering where we are now, geographically speaking. His "grand plan" is quite smart, not that I'd ever tell him that, but I except nothing less than perfection from him at this point in his "career." I ask J why he doesn't just kill Batman since he knows his real identity, but he just laughs and tells me that I don't understand their relationship; the yin to his yang or something like that. Anyway, all I have to do for this masterful "plan" to work is buy a super smokin' dress, get all dolled up, and distract the boy-toy Bruce, long enough for J and his guys to sneak out of their hiding places and take all the expensive stuff on Bruce's yacht. Joker's most trusted henchman, Jonny Frost, is going to zoom up to the yacht on a super speedy boat, and we will all jump onto it and accelerate away into the sunset. Granted there are about a million things that could go wrong with this plan, I decide I'd better not fight J about it. After he finishes explaining what will be needed of me on the yacht, he suggests we go on a shopping spree. I suggest I shower first.

J grabs my wrist again, pulling me up from my chair, and drags me out into the hall. I look over the railing to see the henchmen playing cards at a small table in the center of the room. They look up when they hear our footsteps on the metal ramp. J holds up my hand, still in his grasp, and says, "this little lady needs to clean herself up. Who wants to show her where the shower is?" Jonny stands up, throwing his cards on the table, and walks towards the bottom of the stairs. "I'll show her boss, and grab a towel. Should I get a car ready for later?" he asks as J starts to lead my down the stairs. "Oh no Frosty, that won't be necessary," J says as he releases my wrist and gently shoves me into Jonny. "We'll walk."

I'm lead into a side room that I didn't initially see when we first came into the warehouse because it's hidden under the stairs. Inside the room, there's a sink and mirror to the left as soon as you walk in and a shower lining the back wall. "There are some towels and shampoo under the sink," Jonny informs me, "And uh, don't take too long in there because we're running on a low supply of hot water around here." I give a small, polite smile and thank him. I walk inside and go to lock the door, only to find there is no lock. "Great," I mutter to myself. The absolute last thing I need today, or ever, is for the Joker to see me naked. I get undressed and place my neatly fold and place them on the sink's countertop, and grab a towel and the shampoo from the cabinet underneath the sink. I'm unspeakably grateful that there's a shower curtain, and I pull it closed around me. I spend more than half of my eight minute shower staring at the wall and letting the warm water run over me, letting the day sink in and I think going into shock. A sharp knock on the door fixes me back into reality and I begin to massage soapy suds into my hair. After another minute or two I shut the water off, confident that I've successfully rinsed all the soap out of my hair. I dry off as quickly as possible and get changed into my old clothes. Damn, there isn't a brush in here. I shake my head, trying to dry it as best I can, and shrug at my reflection before leaving the bathroom.

When I walk out of the room, the Joker immediately spots me. He's dressed in a long, purple, crocodile skin coat down to the back of his knees and black pants and dress shoes. And nothing else. I know it's totally inappropriate to think this, but he…looks good. He's ripped, I mean. I quickly look back up at his face and I can't tell if he notices me staring. If he does, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he starts walking to the door and beckons me with a finger. I briskly walk over to catch up to him, curious as to where we're going. As he pushes open the door, he says "You'll see us on the boat, boys!" Wait, what boat? The yacht? How are we going now? Stay calm. These thoughts seem to play on an endless loop in my mind as I try to figure out what's going on. J and I walk out of the building and the door slams shut behind us. I don't ask where we're going. It feels good to be outside again, but the warehouse is located in the middle of nowhere and I have absolutely no idea where we are. After half an hour of walking on the side of the road, I eventually speak up. "Where are we going, J?" Oops, I did not mean to say that last part. I can see him perk up a bit at my nickname for him, and his lips twitch into a smile. "Well my dear, we are going where no man has willingly gone before. The mall. It seems you only have jeans and a shirt in your possession, and that is no appropriate attire for crashing a millionaire's yacht party." He seems very pleased by this, and I try to act unfazed. "Why are we walking instead of taking a car? We aren't even to the city yet," I ask. He just smirks in response.

After another 20 minutes of walking in silence, the number of houses grow. The skyline of the city appears suddenly, and J pulls me into a series of alleyways. It's almost dark out, I think around 8:30 pm, and I find it strange that J isn't strutting down the sidewalk or cruising down the street in a stolen cop car. I'm not sure why he's hiding. There's practically no one in the city, further increasing my confusion and disorientation. We find ourselves in the parking lot of an empty mall, and he leads me to the entrance. "Looks like it's closed for the night," I say, peering into the window to see a lifeless mall. He shrugs, takes out a gun from who knows where, and shoots the door until all of the glass has completely shattered. It scared the shit out of me, and I immediately covered my ears with my hands to protect them from the loud noise. The alarms go off, but there's still on movement inside. "C'mon doll, what's holding you up?" J asks, swinging under the doorframe. I sigh and carefully make my way into the mall and race to catch up to the Joker, already half way up the escalator. By the time I make my way up the stairs, he's already around the corner in a fancy shmancy dress store. I approach the dress he's looking at, and he swings around holding it up to me. "You think this'll fit? You should try it on, just in case," he says, eyeing the dress and then me. He hands it over to me, and it slowly bring my hand out of my back pocket to grasp the hangar. My confused expression must makes him realize that I have no idea what he's talking about, so he says, "It's for the fundraiser." He holds intense eye contact with me, and it makes me very uncomfortable.

I walk into one of the dressing rooms and lock the door. Finally, a lock. Thank God. The dress really is beautiful; it's a navy blue floor-length gown with some crystal embellished contemporary cutouts in the back. ( jenny_packham_floor_length_gown/thing?context_id=206477094&context_type=collection&id=156693885) I try it on, taking a moment to look at myself. The dark circles under my eyes are more prominent than usual and my hair is messy and tangled. But the dress looks great on me and brings out my blue eyes and red hair, so it'll do. I peek my head out of the dressing room to see if J is still out there, and he turns around when he hears the door open. He's holding a pair of gold Stuart Weitzman sandals. ( store/item/?itemid=92749&mktid=PLA&gclid=CjwKEAjwl4q-BRDtzJmSk-uGunkSJACmCOY-tLXg6d_2xgQ18WTSaPRTIcKoR30gCEM_mUFKs0qMfhoCWl_w_wcB) J whistles as I fully step out of the dressing room, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. "You look good, you know that? It's perfect," he whispers the last part and approaches me. He slowly combs through my hair with his fingers. "My pretty Barbie doll…" he says, trailing off on the last word. I pull back, feeling too close to him in the moment, and becoming very aware of how alone we are. I scramble to fill the silence, afraid of how I felt when we were close. "I, uhm, I should go change," I tell him. He takes a step backwards, looking conflicted. I nod and turn around, heading back to the changing room and put on my old clothes.

After we leave the store, dress in hand, J leads me down into the parking garage where there are several cars spotted around the different levels. He leads me to a black Toyota Camry Hybrid and gestures to it with both hands. "It's time to work your magic, Summer Wilson." I think he wants me to hotwire it. I take a step towards the car, looking back at him for confirmation. He gives me a reassuring nod and I continue to the car. I try the drivers seat door handle, and it surprisingly opens. I spot the keys in the ignition, which is extremely strange. Oh, well I guess I'm just driving and not hot wiring then. I duck into the car and adjust the mirrors and seat to my liking. I see J climb in out of the corner of my eye and he leans back into the seat, closing his eyes. We sit in silence for an awkward beat before he opens one eye, looking at me. "I programmed our location into the GPS, just follow the arrows and stop when you need to. I trust that you still want to see your friend, Harley, so I think you can handle a drive up to Maine. Go on ahead." He leans back and closes his eyes again, and I settle into the seat, turn on the car, and back out of the parking space. Here we go.


	6. Wheels on the Bus

We've been driving for about five hours, and are somewhere close to Boston. J is surprisingly silent, slipping in and out of sleep and facing the window. It occurs to me that he probably rarely has any time to sleep or rest when he's doing his…job. I'm also glad he's sleeping because it means that his interaction with me is kept to a minimum. We're more than half way through the drive now; five hours down and five more to go. Speaking of sleep, it suddenly dawns on me that I haven't slept in ages either, and have been driving for most of the night. After a quick glance over to Joker, checking to make sure he's asleep, I make up my mind to find a place to sleep for the night. Not a motel, that'd be too risky considering who my travel companion is, I'm thinking I'll park in a rest stop or something. The road is deserted, being near two in the morning, so it shouldn't be too hard to find a good place to sleep for a few hours. The GPS displays a rest stop coming up in three miles, so I switch lanes and prepare to exit the freeway. The rest stop parking lot is small, with about twenty to thirty parking spaces. There's a large tree at the edge of the lot, with many low hanging branches. I decide to park under them instead of in an actual parking spot to be better hidden from anyone who might stop here as well. I decide to stretch out in the back for a few hours as opposed to trying to sleep in the drivers seat. I quietly take the keys out of the ignition and carry them with me as I hop into the back. My attempts not to wake J are successful and I settle into the leather seats, closing my eyes.

We're moving. My eyes are still closed, it's still dark out, but we're moving. Oh shit. I sit up fast, forgetting I'm in a car, and slam my head on the leather upholstery. I wince, rubbing the sore spot on my forehead, and look around. From the looks of our surroundings, we aren't far from where we stopped. After a moment or two, a sudden realization washes over me; the Joker is driving. If I made a list of people I don't want driving me, J would be at the top. And in the middle, and on the bottom, and every other number on said list because he's frickin' crazy and will probably kill us soon if I don't do something quick. I leap – literally, leap – out of the back and into the passenger seat. One of J's hands is lazily on the wheel while the other rests on his thigh. He's in a relaxed position, head leaning back on the seat's headrest. I make a confused sound that's some mix between a laugh and a scoff before asking him, "What are you doing?" With a quick glance over to me, he responds "Driving. You fell asleep and we need to get there in time." He says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. I'm _really_ unsure how to respond to that. I find myself stuck at a verbal crossroad between "thank you" and "you crazy bastard give me the damn wheel now before you kill us both." I decide to say nothing.

Since it's still the dead of night/morning, there are no cars out. We appear to be back on the deserted freeway, giving him both lanes to swerve back and forth into giddily. Out of instinct, I grab his hand on the wheel and steer the car back into the correct lane and straighten it out. My hand grabs his. My hand grabs his, and I feel something. I think he does too, seeing as we are both staring at out hands, wide eyed and shell shocked at the spark is ignited when we touch. I pull away and place my hand back in my lap, neither of us saying anything for a while. He stays in the correct lane. The silence is one of those long, slow, impossibly awkward ones where you find yourself all but scraping the skin off your hands trying to come up with something to say. I look at the clock on the car dashboard – 4 am. I only slept for two hours, but it feels like longer. I must have really needed to sleep. I decide, for some odd reason I feel obligated to, to break the silence by asking J about what our plan is. "So, how exactly am I supposed to get onto this party yacht? It's not like we were sent an invitation," I ask, genuinely curious as to how the hell I am supposed to pull this off. J rolls his neck, something he does quite often, and starts to explain. "You see Summer, a perk to being beautiful is having the power to manipulate people. Seeing you in that dress, you look like you belong at one of those parties. So, grab a guy and just walk into the party with him. Seduce him; and if you're caught I'm sure some other fine woman will distract Mr. Wayne. But don't get caught." Umm, what the fuck. He really expects me to just sneak onto a billionaire's yacht fundraiser party? A horrible feeling of anxiety settles deep in my stomach, and the nerves begin to make me feel nauseous. Scrambling for the topic to change, I decide to talk about Harley.

"I've known her forever you know. Harley and I are like sisters. Were like sisters," I say, hoping J will take the bait and move on from the "party plan." He does, at least for now, because he asks, "She never shuts up about you, Summer. Always talking about how much fun you two have together, how hard you make her laugh, how you've known each other since college, yada yada. She also says that you had a nasty habit of watching the two of us chat in Arkham. Kinda kinky in a way, don't ya think?" I laugh softly. No, no Summer! Bad Summer, the Joker is NOT funny or charming or witty or whatever I apparently thing he is because I just laughed at something he said. A real, genuine laugh. "Yeah I um, I do – did – have a nasty habit of hacking into the security cameras at times; only when I got bored though. I also used to hot wire cars with Harley, but that was when we were much younger. In college, I mean, so I guess not all that long ago." J responds with a long, slow nod before asking me, "So Summer, what's your family like?" I pause before answering, debating internally whether or not to respond. In a spur of the moment decision, I answer truthfully. "I had a normal childhood, nothing traumatic. My parents were together – still are together – and I don't have any siblings. My family is small but strong. I've always been fascinated with people and what makes them tick, that's why I majored in phycology in college. That's where I met Harley. Other than that there's nothing much to tell really, I've has a fairly normal life up until now." J nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. We talk for a while longer, nothing important, but I begin to feel strangely comfortable in his presence. Before I know it, the sun is peeking through the trees lining the road. With a peek at the clock I see that it's now 7 am. Without warning, Joker suddenly veers off onto a hidden road to the right. I'm thrown forward and then back into my seat, slamming my head (again) on the car seat. Ouch. We've stopped talking now. After another two minutes of driving in silence on the tiny gravel road, J pulls to the side of the road and turns off the engine. He reaches into the back seat, grabbing my dress out of its shoebox on the floor, and hands it and my shoes to me. He smiles and says, "We're here. Get ready."


	7. Three Piece Suit

After abandoning the car, J and I walk through a small path in the woods that leads to a clearing with various paths splintering off in all directions. I struggle to keep hold of both my shoes and dress, terrified of what would happen if I dropped either one in the mud. It occurs to me that I probably (definitely) look like crap, and am in desperate need of a shower if I am to convincingly sneak onto a yacht party. I look up and see that Joker has walked ahead while I was daydreaming, and I walk quickly in order to catch up to him, narrowly avoiding the gnarled tree roots twisting at my feet. As odd as it may sound, the last thing I want is to be separated from J. besides, I've come this far and I'm not about to give up my chances of seeing Harley again; even if it means becoming an accomplice to the Joker. A thought I've never had before enters my mind and it honestly scares me to death; I have no idea what's going to happen on this yacht. I know J wants me to distract Bruce Wayne with my "pretty face" or whatever, but he never told me what he is doing to do (besides steal some paintings here and there).

We continue on the second to last trail on the left for a good ten minutes, the whole humid trip spent wondering why we aren't just driving, before reaching another clearing, this time a house in it. The structure, more of a shack to be honest, has virtually no windows and is made of dark wood. It's a fine space – but I'm confused as to why we are here. With a quick glance back to make sure I'm still following him, J proceeds into the cabin and, as always, I follow him. As someone who is not very tall – being somewhere around 5'3" – I rarely struggle with fitting into spaces, but the doorframe of this cabin is so low that I have to literally bend over to get underneath it without slamming my head. I'm sure J would get a kick out of that. The interior of the cabin matches its outside; run down, small, dark, and unwelcoming. From what I can tell by first glance, the cabin is only a single, open room with a bathroom in the back. J disappears into the bathroom. In the left corner, there are some cabinets mounted to the wall above a kitchen counter. On top of the counter, there's an unopened pack of water bottles. I silently thank God because I am _literally_ parched. A sink next to a dishwasher and a stovetop complete the area, the space lacking a refrigerator. J reappears and takes my dress and shoes from my hands, replacing them with a towel and shampoo.

"There's a shower in the back and a makeup bag and brush on the counter. We leave at dusk, so don't take too long," he says with surprising bluntness. I expected something else from him. Anger, maybe? He seems inexplicably polite. I give him a single nod and a "Thanks," understanding his instructions and not in the mood to talk, before heading back to the bathroom. When I close the door, I drop the towel and shampoo on the floor and sink to the ground. I don't cry, I'm just exhausted and dehydrated and so, so, _so_ tired of being here. I miss Harley, and still haven't confronted J about what will happen when we get her back. I haven't been alone in days. The deadline for rent has probably passed and will have to deal with the landlord when I get home. If I ever get home. J keeps surprising me. I'm surprised that he keeps surprising me, as I went into this "adventure" on my toes. I don't know him very well personally, but from what Harley told me, I know that he's unpredictable. Looking around, I notice that the bathroom is very nice – much nicer than you'd expect an abandoned cabin in the woods bathroom to be. It has a certain rustic charm that doesn't fit my particular situation. I can easily imagine myself living here forgetting my doctor dreams (which are pretty much crushed at this point) and having a nice dog. Maybe a German Sheppard? Either way, the Joker wouldn't be here with me.

This thought propels me off the ground, suddenly aware that I've been sitting on the ground for too long and my butt is starting to become numb. I quickly strip and turn the faucet handle, giving the water a moment to heat up before jumping in. The shower has _limited_ hot water, so I quickly scrub my hair with the shampoo I was given and attempt to rid my body of the dirt and sweat that has accumulated over the past several days. The water pooling around the drain goes from clear to sudsy to dirty to clean again, just like me. Just as I'm finishing up, I feel the water begin to lose it's appeal, growing colder by the second. I slam the handle down, stopping the water flow, and hop out of the shower. I wrap the towel around my body and shake out my hair, small water droplet splattering the mirror and wall. Running a hand over the fogged mirror, I have a moment to look at myself. I'm much cleaner than I was before, and the bags under my eyes have slightly reduced since this morning. Placing my hands on either side of the sink bowl, I press myself into the cool marble surface.

I've always used the expression "stuck between a rock and a hard place" sparingly, and usually reserve it for when I'm discussing tough patients in the asylum. This, however, is possibly the most extreme rock and hard place I've ever been in. if I have the opportunity to talk to Bruce Wayne – Batman himself – do I tell him my situation? Or do I say quiet and do what Joker tells me to, and maybe getting the chance to see Harley again. I impatiently tap my fingers on the countertop, frustrated with my own inability to make a decision. A sharp rap on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, the gruff voice informing me that I need to get ready. I give myself one more look in the mirror, nodding once in determination and preparation for the upcoming hours. Clutching the towel close to me I turn and open the door, cool air rushing in and meeting with the humidity of the bathroom. J is nowhere to be found, and the guard leads me to a bedroom where my shoes and dress are laid out, as well as a plethora of makeup and hair products on the vanity. The guard nods towards the clock mounted on the wall, informing me that I have until 6 to get ready. I thank him, although I'm unsure why I do, and I'm left alone to my thoughts once again.


End file.
